The Life of William Sherlock Scott Holmes
by I 4 2 write
Summary: Sherlock's life story from birth on. Will have everything confirmed as canon from the shows, John's blog, Sherlock's website, and The Sherlock Files by Guy Adams, the companion book to the series. Warning for later drug use. May be changed as we learn more about his childhood.
1. Welcome to the World, Brother Mine

It had been a surprise, shock really, when his parents told him he was going to be a big brother. He knew his parents were very much in love. He knew his mother had given up her career because she wanted to spend all her time with her children, and they'd tried a long time before he'd come along. Both his parents were overjoyed about the new baby. Mycroft thought they were making fools of themselves. Mrs. Holmes was past childbearing years. For some reason she didn't appreciate being told the statistics of having children at her age.

"You shouldn't even be thinking along those lines. You're only seven, Myc."

"Mycroft," he corrected automatically, and went back to reading the article about babies in the medical journal.

The baby seemed determined to be trouble right from the start. Mycroft knew babies could hardly plan anything, but did the baby have to be born on January sixth, the day of the worst blizzard of the year? It was a month before the supposed due date. That didn't mean the baby wouldn't take their time once they were at the hospital. Mycroft was bored with waiting after the first five minuets.

"I could have been home enjoying myself," he complained.

"Don't you want to be here when your brother or sister is born?" His father tried to give him a positive attitude.

"Babies are born every day. Besides, it's not as if I won't be seeing them every day for the rest of my life. With seven years difference between us it's doubtful we'll be close anyway."

His father, Siger, didn't know how to answer that. He loved Mycroft very much, but had no idea how to relate to him. At times he was almost frightened for him, imagining him as an isolated adult. Perhaps the new baby would be a friend for him. Both he and his wife were sure this child would be special. He or she was the extra blessing they'd never expected to have.

Hours passed before a nurse came in to tell them the news. The baby was another boy. Both the baby and his mother were doing well, even though the child was a bit small since he'd arrived early. Siger and Mycroft could come see. The second time father lept out of his chair, and the new brother followed with less enthusiasm. As they came into the room they saw Violet Holmes holding a baby with a surprising amount of black hair. The baby looked in their directing, his eyes a shade of bluish gray that was unusual for a new baby. Mycroft wondered if they would stay that color. They seemed to have more depth than most eyes.

"He looks like you," the proud mother told her husband lovingly.

"He has your eyes though," Siger leaned in to kiss her. "He's absolutely perfect."

Mycroft didn't comment as his parents gushed over his new brother. He supposed he was good enough, as far as babies went. There wasn't a real point to him though. He wasn't jealous. His parents never gave him reason to doubt they loved him. He just couldn't see what all the fuss was about.

"Would you like to hold him, Myc?"

For once, he didn't correct his mother for calling him that Instead he shrugged.

"I suppose so."

His mother looked disappointed at his lack of feeling, but instructed him in how to hold a baby. Mycroft was careful to support his head, and held him securely. The baby looked at his brother as if trying to understand the connection.

"Hello, brother," Mycroft greeted him. He felt himself soften a bit towards the newcomer. He looked at his- now their- parents. "What did you decide to name him?'

He knew they'd been having trouble deciding between three names. Mycroft had to roll his eyes when his father answered. It was a long, formal sounding name. Leave it to his parents to string them together. William Sherlock Scott Holmes had entered the world.

The family stayed together as long as they could. Siger kissed his wife and new son goodbye, and told Mycroft it was time for everyone to get some sleep. Mycroft found it harder than he'd expected to let go of William. He'd drooled on Mycroft's shirt, but somehow the baby grabbing on to his finger made him forget that. He was a reasonably cute baby, he supposed.

On the way home, the world looked a little different. The blizzard had stopped, and the moon was bright. Mycroft was tired, but somehow he felt good.

"He'll look up to you, you know," his father told him. "You're his big brother. You'll be his teacher, probably even his protector."

"What?" Mycroft looked horrified. "I never even wanted a little brother."

"You'll be surprised how much you'll grow to love him," Siger answered. "Your uncle Rudy- I remember when he was born, I didn't want to be a big brother either. It didn't take long for me to realize how much he means to me."

"But Uncle Rudy-"

"Is my brother," he said firmly. "And no choice in clothes is ever going to change how much I love him."

So in the following months, Mycroft made an effort to like little William. It wasn't easy when he could hear him waking up the whole house in the middle of the night, wanting milk or a diaper change, or just attention. He didn't care if his parents claimed all babies cried. He was certain he'd been perfectly quiet at that age.

Eventually, William did become more quiet. He was crawling, and then walking much sooner than most babies. That was not a good thing. If there was a way for him to get into trouble, he'd find it. He even figured out how to unscrew the bars of his cot and escape. Yet as active as he was he couldn't, or wouldn't, speak. When he wasn't getting into trouble he was setting quietly, almost as if his attention was focused on something no one else could see. Mycroft couldn't believe his parents didn't see there was something wrong with William.

"He should have said his first word months ago. Obviously his brain isn't working."

"Not all babies do the same thing at the same time," his mother explained yet again. Mycroft wasn't convinced. His father, on the other hand, chuckled.

"Once he starts talking, I have an idea no one will ever get him to stop. Now, why don't you put him in his cot? He should be asleep by now."

William was reaching up for something on the end table, no doubt about to send it crashing down. Mycroft picked him up.

"Come on, you little moron. To bed with you."

"Be nice to him, Myc," his mother pleaded. Mycroft rolled his eyes. He focused on his task, and laid William down.

"There you go. I suppose if you ever do learn to talk, you won't be able to say my name right either." He turned to leave, but heard something that made him stop.

"Coft."

Mycroft turned back to him and walked closer, a bit open mouthed.

"Say that again." William looked like he was concentrating.

"Cwoft." Apparently he realized he'd missed a sound, but was having trouble with it.

"My- cr- oft." Mycroft encouraged.

"Mycwoft!" William cheered and giggled.

"Mother! Father! You have to hear this! William said my name!"

His parents raced in, and Mycroft prompted. 'Now, one more time. My- croft."

William looked at him like he was being silly and giggled.

"Now, sweetheart, we know how much you want him to talk. Just give him time."

"You can stay with him awhile, but don't keep him awake. Goodnight now."

"But I'm telling you he really did talk!"

Mycroft was rewarded with sympathetic looks as they left to go to bed. He heard their bedroom door close. They wouldn't listen anymore that night. He looked back at the grinning baby.

"You planned that, didn't you?"

"Mycwoft."

AN: So happy to be publishing this on January sixth, Sherlock's thirty fourth birthday according to the BBC timeline.


	2. Brotherhood

"Come on, Myc! You said you'd play with me, and I want to play pirates."

"Not now, William. I'm watching the election results." William flopped down dramatically. He knew what an election was, but couldn't have cared less.

"Is the one you want winning?"

"No."

"Would watching make the one you want win?"

"No," he said again, having a harder time controlling his irritation.

"Then who cares! Come and play." He started switching the light on and off. Mycroft preferred the curtains drawn and the room darker for watching the telly. He tried to ignore his little brother, but it became harder when William started blinking "bored" in Morse code. Mycroft regretted teaching him Morse. He'd only hoped to find some sign of intelligence in him. Honestly, it had taken William six months to learn French for God's sake! And what four year old only spoke three languages? The boy was an embarrassment.

"Blink that light one more time, and you'll go to bed without supper."

The light blinked faster. William didn't care about food. It was all their mother could do to get him to stop whatever he was involved in long enough to eat. Still, Mycroft didn't understand how he could easily go without a meal altogether.

"I'll send you to bed early."

That did it. William hated going to bed. The younger boy crossed his arms and pouted. Mycroft congratulated himself on getting William to behave. Distracted by the telly, he didn't see the smirk come over his brother's face. He'd said not to blink the light. He'd never said be quiet.

"Bored," William started to chant. "Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored."

"William-" his tone held enough warning to make him stop for one moment. One very brief moment.

"Mycroft?"

"What?" he snapped. William wasn't put off by it.

"How did you do that magic trick last night?"

"Magic trick?" Mycroft asked. William was getting more and more ridiculous. He hadn't done anything magic. He hated illusionists, in fact. Their tricks were so obvious they were hardly enjoyable.

"You know. When you read that lady's mind last night. Remember Mummy's friend who came to supper? You knew everything she was thinking and what her kids are doing- that kind of thing."

Oh. Of course it would seem like magic to someone that stupid.

"That wasn't magic, William. That was deduction. I could see things from how she dressed, the way she used her hands, how her makeup was applied, that sort of thing. If a person pays attention they can know all about a person from details like that."

"Oh." William said simply. Mycroft had a moment of quiet when he thought his brother might just go play by himself. "Can I learn? Will you teach me?"

Mycroft laughed. "Teach you? Someone as stupid as you couldn't learn."

"I'm not stupid!" Although he sounded like he doubted that himself. "Mummy and Daddy always say how smart I am."

"That's because parents have to say those things. They're really very disappointed in you."

William scowled in a way that told Mycroft he'd have to make him happy if he wanted any peace that night. As much as he hated Les Miz, going with his parents to see it was starting to sound much better than babysitting.

"Oh very well." He glanced out the window. "I suppose we have time to go for a walk-" he said the last word with disgust. "The election results will be on the news anyway. We'll go to the park and practice deduction on the people there."

William cheered, and dragged his brother the whole way. They took a seat on a bench.

"Now, we'll try something easy to start with. That gentleman carrying the bags. What can you tell me about him?"

William studied him, not understanding how he could know things like his brother did.

"Look at his clothes. What do you see?"

"They're not very strait. And he has pet fur on him. So he has a dog or cat?"

"Cat, although I suppose without a closer look you would have a hard time telling. But what else does that tell you?"

William looked confused, not yet understanding just how much a person could see from little things.

"What does mother do when you go out looking messy?"

"She makes me clean up." His eyes widened. The idea was starting to take hold in his mind. "So nobody told him he looks messy. He lives by himself."

"Does he?"

William studied the man harder. "No. Toys are sticking out of his bag. So somehow he doesn't have a wife, but he has a child."

"Children," Mycroft corrected him. "He has a rattle and a book for a slightly older child. So children."

William looked at Mycroft like he was the center of the universe. How could one person be so smart? William wanted to know more, to be like his brother, and he wasn't going to stop trying. Soon it was a game, seeing if he could see things Mycroft couldn't. He called it playing deductions, but it was a game Mycroft always won.

"That's enough for now," Mycroft told him finally.

"No! I'm getting better. I'll beat you next time!"

"No, you won't. Don't try to be smart, William. You'll only make your head hurt. I'm the smart one. Now come on." William clung to the bench and Mycroft had to pry his fingers off. "Stop being stubborn. It's time for you to go to bed."

"One more. Please?" William whined. Mycroft decided to try bargaining.

"No, but I'll tell you a story if you come now and go right to bed."

He could see the debate going on behind William's eyes.

"You'll play deduction again with me later? And it can be a pirate story?"

Mycroft nodded, and William came along, still talking about "playing deductions" and how amazing it was.

"And when I get as good at it as you, I'll be able to know everything!" He declared as Mycroft made sure he actually got into bed.

"You'll never know everything, and you'll certainly never be as good as me. Now, let's see about the story. Once there was a pirate, and his name was Captain Billy."

"My name isn't Billy," William interrupted, realizing what his brother was doing. Mycroft ignored him.

"Captain Billy thought he was the cleverest, bravest, best pirate to ever sail. He never realized what a bad person he was. But something did. It was the east wind."

"The what? How can a wind be dangerous?"

"Will you be quiet and listen? You might find out if I get the chance to tell you." William glared but let Mycroft continue. "Now, the east wind is a terrible force of nature. It lays waste to all in it's path. It seeks out the unworthy and plucks them from the earth. It came and took Captain Billy right off his ship, and he was never seen again."

The moral of the story wasn't lost on his younger brother.

"I'm not unworthy. Besides, the wind can't do that."

"Yes you are. You're annoying, stupid, and a general pain to everyone who knows you no matter what mother and father say. That's why if you don't be good, the east wind will come and take you away. It's not an ordinary wind, William. It's sent on a mission to destroy bad, stupid people."

Mycroft had chosen the perfect night for his "story." A wind had come up, and was blowing hard against the window. It sounded angry, like it really was trying to break in.

"Myc? Isn't the wind from the east tonight?"

"Hmm? Oh yes it is. Sleep well, William."

He started to leave, but his little brother grabbed on to his shirt.

"You can't tell me the east wind will get me and then just leave!" For the first time ever, there was fear in William's voice. It was almost enough to make Mycroft feel sympathy. Almost.

"There's nothing I could do to protect you anyway. Just stop being unworthy and you'll be fine." With that, he closed the bedroom door. William was left hiding under the covers, wondering just how he could stop being unworthy.


	3. Not normal, not unworthy

Their parents arrived back about the time Mycroft expected. The first thing Violet did was to ask where William was. It was highly unusual for him to quietly go to bed. She'd expected to find him in some mischief, which was why she didn't believe Mycroft when he said William hadn't been any trouble. She was relieved that they weren't fighting, but Mycroft shouldn't be in this good of mood after babysitting.

"We went for walk to the park. We people watched for a bit, and I told him a story before bed. There isn't much else to tell," Mycroft claimed.

She gave him a skeptical look, wishing she'd have obeyed her instincts and hired a sitter. Mycroft had protested that he was old enough to watch William. She knew it was mostly to get out of going to the show, but she felt sure he was responsibleenough to watch William for a few hours. She was starting to regret that, although as far as she could tell she had no reason too. Something had happened to her youngest boy. The only question was what.

Going upstairs, she peaked into William's room. He was laying still, but she could tell he was awake. As soon as he heard her steps, he ran to her and gave her a hug. He was trembling, something she'd never seen him do before.

William what's the matter? You're shaking like a leaf in the wind." She had no way to know she was only making it worse. William wanted to tell her, but he was sure he had to be brave. The east wind only took bad people. Wouldn't being a coward be bad?"

"I'm fine. Just a little cold."

Violet didn't quite believe him, but unless he told her the truth there was nothing she could do. She asked him once more if he was sure nothing was wrong, and got him an extra quilt.

"You know, if you want to sleep with your father and I tonight, you can."

He shook his head and crawled back between the covers. Somehow he fell asleep that night, but he had nightmares over the next month. The weather had taken a turn for the worse. Mycroft took full advantage of this. Anytime their parents couldn't hear, he'd mention the east wind. Some days he would even ask one of their parents just how bad the wind was. He was careful not to do it enough for them to notice, but it was obvious something was troubling William.

The younger boy was far calmer than normal. Usually he'd be playing pirates, testing the effects of putting different things in the microwave, or asking question after question. Now, he'd be in his room playing quiet games or paging through books. The only time he made a sound was when he had nightmares. Violet and Siger had no idea what caused them, but it was only natural for a child to be afraid during storms. It wouldn't have been unusual for William to come to them one especially bad night. The fact that he didn't was alarming.

"Siger, sweetheart?" Violet turned to her husband. They were laying in bed, but neither had fallen asleep yet. "I think we'd better check on William."

Her husband nodded, and they found William lying in bed, gripping the blankets so hard his knuckles were white and staring at the ceiling. His eyes were wide with terror. Both parents went over and held him between them.

"There's nothing to be afraid of,son," Siger told him gently.

"He's right, darling. It's only the wind."

William shook his head. "Only the wind? How can you say that? It's the east wind and it's going to take me away tonight." He whimpered helplessly, accepting the fate he believed was in store for him.

"East wind? Does this have anything to do with Mycroft?"

"He just warned me the east wind would take me if I couldn't be good enough. I tried. I don't know what else I could have done." The quiet way he said it was more upsetting than if he would have screamed. His parents shared a look, and Siger wordlessly went to get Mycroft.

"William, do you really think your father and I would ever let anything hurt you?" Violet hugged him close. "We're going to be having a word with Mycroft right now about this, and don't worry. You're safe."

Siger came back, bringing a half asleep and protesting Mycroft. As soon as Mycroft saw them gathered around William he knew what was going on.

"Care to tell us what you said to terrify your little brother so much?"

Mycroft did his best to look innocent. "I just told him a bedtime story."

"About?" Siger prompted. Mycroft knew then he was in real trouble. Not only was his mother on the verge of eruption. His father, normally the picture of calm and quiet, was angry.

"Oh for God's sake it was only a story."

"Watch how you phrase things, and it wasn't just a story to him."

"I didn't expect him to believe it."

"Yes you did!" William felt brave enough to confront him now. "You said I had to stop being unworthy or the east wind would get me."

"Mycroft!" Both his parents glared at him. After a lecture about how William was just a little boy and he should be nicer to his brother, a punishment was decided on. Not the typical punishments, like being grounded or sent to bed without supper. Mycroft was lazy enough being grounded was no punishment, and it would be too cruel to deny food. This punishment was something that helped to undo the crime, and would hopefully bring the brothers a little closer.

"For an hour every day, you will spend quality time with William. Your father or I will make sure you're actually being good to him. You'll let him choose what he wants to do."

It was no use protesting. Mycroft felt prison would have been a mercy at first. William was just too energetic to enjoy playing with, and too dull to talk to. He couldn't quite keep up with the mental leaps Mycroft made easily. Yet Mycroft had to admit he was getting better when they played deductions. Now that he understood every detail had a story to tell, he was progressing. It was slow progress as far as Mycroft was concerned, and he still beat Sherlock at their game each time. Still, it was progress.

It was frustrating for William to loose all the time. Siger knew Violet sometimes rephrased things, basically went easy on him because she was so much above him intellectually. He tried to convince Mycroft to go easy on William, but neither boy would accept that. Resentment towards Mycroft built at times, but they ended every session playing a game William had a fair chance at winning.

Violet hoped once Mycroft's set punishment was over, the two brothers could still have their moments. Unfortunately, by that time school started again. Mycroft busied himself with his studies even though they were hardly a challenge. William was obviously lonely, and his parents decided it was time for him to meet other children. A couple had moved in across the street, and they had a son a little older than William. A playdate was set up for the two boys to get to know each other.

William's parents were a little surprised when they first saw young Sean up close. He was large compared to William, heavily built while William had a light frame. He seemed like a polite young boy though, and it didn't take long for them to be playing happily. Violet and Siger checked on them at first, but soon felt it was safe to leave them alone.

Excited at having a friend, William did his best to be kind. He'd certainly didn't mean to be hurtful when he noticed things about Sean. He'd thought he was being nice.

"I'm sorry about your dad."

"What about him?" Sean looked at him with something like fear.

"About his leaving your family."

Sean pushed William, causing him to fall and land against a night stand.

"Who's been saying that?" the larger boy demanded.

"What do you mean?" William was honestly surprised. "Nobody said anything. I could just see it. If I can, normal people must be able to. I know I'm stupid. If I know, everybody must."

Sean punched William, who hadn't imagined such a reaction and hadn't been braced for it. He fell, and Sean was on top on him before he could get up, ready to hit him again. William closed his eyes, but the blow never came. He looked up and saw a very angry Mycroft holding his attacker by the shoulders. Mycroft might have moments of cruelty, but he wasn't going to let anyone ever hurt his brother that way. Mycroft wasn't a person of exceptional physical strength, but at that moment he looked like he could have snapped the boy in half and followed that up by crushing him like a used can.

"Hurt my little brother again, and they'll be searching for what pieces of you are left." Mycroft used a tone of voice that was even more frightening because of itscalmness. Sean looked appropriately frightened. By now Violet and Siger had heard what was going on. They took Sean home quickly, and it was clear he was even more afraid of them than of Mycroft. William let his brother make sure he wasn't hurt, but he didn't cry or act upset. He was focused on one thought. What if Sean was right? What if he could do something not everyone could?


	4. Happy Times

William did meet with other children, but each meeting was a disaster. His parents and Mycroft saw to it that he never got hurt by another child again, but he wasn't able to form any real friendship. They all thought he was weird, or rude although he wasn't trying to be. He couldn't seem to understand why saying some things upset them, and never did know when to hold back. William was hurt by the fact that no one around wanted to play with him, but a realization was forming in his mind. He wasn't stupid! No one else he met except for Mycroft could think the way he could.

Mycroft was also starting to re- think how he saw his brother as well. Was it possible that although William was still slow compared to him, he was a genius compared to others? To be fair, Mycroft had never bothered playing with other children. He'd never taken the time to think about people beyond what he could read off them. He decided to try, as a form of experiment. He started accepting invitations to classmates' parties or to other families' homes for tea. It didn't take long to stop. His new hypothesis was correct. He may as well try talking to a goldfish as to a normal person.

The idea delighted William at first. He was smart! Mycroft was still smarter than him. He knew that. That was why Mycroft didn't like him. But if he was smart, why couldn't he get other children to like him? He was finding it was as hard on one side of the intellectual fence as the other.

Siger suggested the idea to his wife one day, a possible answer to William's loneliness.

"You know, I had a dog at about his age. I never felt lonely with him around. Boys should have a dog."

Mycroft had never shown any interest in pets. He was far too lazy to willingly take care of one, and besides they were a lot of trouble. William, however, couldn't have been more excited. Once his parents knew he liked the idea, they set a date to take him to the animal shelter. There seemed to be an endless supply of pets to choose from there. His parents expected him to choose a puppy, but he stopped at a kennel holding an adult Irish setter. The dog had been laying calmly, but came to the front of his cage and licked William as soon as he saw him.

"We found that one wondering around out in the country. No collar or anything," the shelter keeper told them. "We think he was abandoned. Seems to like people, so probably wasn't always a stray. Sad, but we see it sometimes, people not even bothering to surrender their pets to us and just leaving them to fend for themselves."

Willaim hadn't taken his eyes off the dog. He was murmuring quietly. "Poor Redbeard."

"Redbeard?" Mycroft asked, not entirely surprised. "You would have to give him a pirate name."

"Well I am going to be a pirate when I grow up. He needs a pirate name. He isn't black, so he can't be Blackbeard."

"But sweetheart," his mother argued. "He's a big dog and you're a little boy. Wouldn't you like a puppy instead?"

Willaim looked around. There were very few puppies compared to adult dogs. He could tell what that meant.

"Puppies find homes faster, don't they? Redbeard needs a home."

"He's already named him," Mycroft pointed out. "You'll never change his mind now."

"He seems like a nice gentle dog," Siger pointed out. Violet could see her son already loved the dog. It didn't take long to sign the paperwork, and Redbeard became an official member of the family. The whole car ride home, he snuggled beside William, his tail a blur of red. It was clear he knew he'd found his best friend.

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"You need to fix the angle of the bow."

Mycroft hit a wrong note as William corrected him. He tried again, worse than before. He didn't know why his parents made him take violin lessons in the first place. He'd never been good with music.

"You should use your wrist more than your fingers."

This time there was a screech. Redbeard had started to howl along to the music.

"Whoopsies. You need to relax more. You're too tense."

"I can't imagine why. Now unless you could play it better go away."

"Why? This is fun." A few more screeches came from the much abused violin "And maybe I could play it better."

"You've never even taken a lesson. How do you even know what I'm doing wrong?"

"I just hear when what you do works and what doesn't."

In truth, Mycroft could have done the same, if he'd had any interest. He wasn't fond of music in general. William, on the other hand, had inherited their mother's love for it.

"Fine then. You want to learn? Why don't you take it and see what you can do with it."

William accepted the violin Mycroft handed him. He didn't know how to read sheet music, or how to play any notes, but there was still more smoothness in the random sounds he produced than in what Mycroft had played.

"If you want lessons, William, all you have to do is ask," Violet said when she heard his attempt at music. He nodded.

"I'd like that!"

So now William had two outlets for his energy, his dog and his music lessons. He wasn't quite a normal boy of his age. He was more responsible and at times more serious. He would forget things he thought weren't important, but he never forgot to feed Redbeard or take him for a walk. He never complained about the time he had to spend practicing his violin. He still didn't have a human friend. He was different, but he was happy. That was all that mattered for then.


	5. Life Lessons

William loved his violin lessons. Soon he was working well ahead of what his teacher assigned him. His parents were so happy to see him enjoying something that they decided it would be a good idea to sign him up for more lessons. A new dance studio had opened nearby, and people were saying good things about it. That didn't exactly impress William. He loved music, but dancing meant being with other people.

"But that's the idea, son," Siger said gently.

"I'm supposed to dance in front of people? With people?"

Mycroft thought this was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. He was hiding his laughter- barely- until he heard the rest of the news.

"Besides, you won't be having the lessons alone," Violet told William. "We've signed Mycroft up for lessons too."

Now that was definitely the funniest thing William had ever heard. He nearly fell off the couch laughing while Mycroft looked horrified.

"You're not serious!"

"You could do with some social skills too, Myc. You always talk about being involved in the government someday. That will only happen if you know how to work with people. And-" she tried to phrase it gently. "I've been concerned about your weight. It just isn't healthy for a boy your age to be your size."

"I hope the dance floor is reinforced concrete," William put it, ignoring the death glare Mycroft gave him. His mother was harder to ignore.

"William! You want Mycroft to be nice to you, you can be nice to to him too." She turned back to her older son. "And I think a healthy diet would do you good. We'll all try to be helpful and supportive." The last part was said with another glare to William.

Classes started the next day, and the children had already divided themselves into small groups. The girls were laughing among themselves, proud of the new clothes their parents had bought them. Most of the boys looked uncomfortable, and not just because of their suits. William was the most uncomfortable of all.

The instructor was a stern looking older woman. She clapped her hands to get everyone's attention, and started by giving everyone a speech about how dancing was an art form and how inside every boy was a lordly lion waiting to prance, and inside every lady a swan waiting to burst out into flight.

'Something's about to burst out of Mycroft, but I don't think it's a swan or a lion." William felt his mother swat him lightly at that.

"Now, everyone pair off," the students were told. "Oh, we seem to have one more boy than girl. Mr. Holmes, as the oldest boy here you can be paired with me."

William pretended to have to cough into his arm to avoid being seen laughing. Mycroft swallowed nervously and stepped forward. William gave him a slight push.

"Now, put your hands on my waist."

'Where?" his face reddened and he gulped.

"My waist Mr. Holmes!"

Mycroft did as told, the music started, and everyone tried not to step on anyone's feet. Violet and Siger half watched, half had a dance of their own. William lead around a little blond girl, starting to catch on how he had to move. This was actually- fun? Not that he cared so much about his partner, who was giggling and being silly. Moving to music was rather enjoyable though. He started to be a little inventive, working in a few swirls and turns.

"You're getting ahead of yourself, Mr. Holmes the younger, but quite good."

By the time the lesson was over, William decided he didn't just like dancing. He loved it! Mycroft teased him about it on the way home, claiming dancing and music were both silly and pointless.

"Jealous because I'm good at something and you can't even see your feet to know where to move them?"

The bickering continued all the way home.

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Just because William loved his violin and dancing lessons didn't mean he was looking forward to school.

"You know people don't like me," he tried to argue. "And at school I'll be surrounded. Can't I be home schooled? You could hire a tutor without any trouble."

His mother had hugged him and explained her reasoning gently.

"William you can't avoid people forever. It's just not the way to live. You need to get used to being with other people. You're a good hearted, intelligent little boy. It shouldn't be hard for you to make friends. Just be yourself and you'll see."

"That's the worst advice you could give him," Mycroft commented. It wasn't a put down exactly. With that tone of voice, he could have been talking about the weather.

"Myc, can't you ever say nice things about your brother?" Violet almost begged.

"It's only the truth. William has no idea of when to keep his mouth shut, and we already know other children find him annoying. That's putting it mildly. Lying to him and telling him otherwise won't change it. At best it will only set him up for disappointment."

"I don't see you bringing home any friends, or going to anyone else's house."

"Once again, Mother, you're under the mistaken impression that I actually want friends."

Violet grimaced, but was all too used to her oldest boy's cold hearted act. She always believed there was more to Mycroft than he would let show. She could only hope someday he'd let his barriers down. For now, it was William she was more worried about.

"You want to make friends, don't you, dear?"

He shook his head. "I have Redbeard. He's all the friend I need." To prove the point, Redbeard nuzzled William's hand. He'd learned his name quickly, and was never away from his master's side. Like William, the dog was energetic and loved to play. It didn't matter that he wasn't a puppy. He seemed to feel like one. He gave a little whimper for attention, and William instantly obliged.

"I know you love him, but he can't be the only friend you ever have."

'Why not?"

Neither of his parents knew how to explain. Certainly a boy needed human friends, but there was another more important reason he needed friends besides his dog. Redbeard was already older when they adopted him. Sooner or later, the two friends would be separated.

"Just trust your mother's judgment on this."

So William ended up going to his first day of school. Finding him that morning would have been harder if he'd been willing to leave Redbeard behind when he tried to hide. Mycroft found him easily. He protested every inch of the way, but quieted when they arrived. His mother kissed her hand before touching it to his forehead. He squirmed and made a disgusted face.

"Mum! I'm not a baby."

"You know the answer every mother has ever given to that? You're my baby."

His father hugged him, and both his parents spoke with a few of the teachers. His mother straitened his messy hair. Then he was left to talk with the other children before classes started, tussling his hair again as soon as his mother was out of sight.

"So you're the weird kid who knows everything," one boy sneered.

Without hesitation, William shot back "So you're the boy who wasn't toilet trained until a month ago."

It was the start of a very long day. That night when his mother picked him up, William had a black eye and a bruise on his cheek. Violet immediately held him close.

"Oh, darling what happened?"

"Nothing," he tried to lie convincingly. "We played football today and I was goalie, that's all. I just need to be better at blocking."

"William, tell me the truth. They hurt you, didn't they?"

He looked disappointed at his mother seeing through him.

"How did you know?"

"Mothers know everything. Now, was it one of your classmates?"

He shook his head. "One of their big brothers."

William would have preferred the whole incident to be forgotten, but just then the principal came out to meet his parents.

"Mr. and Mrs. Holmes? Could I speak to you a minuet?"

"I think that's a good idea. Who exactly hurt my son?"

'That's being seen to, Mrs. Holmes," he assured her. "But he wasn't entirely unprovoked. William- is having a hard time adjusting to a school setting. He started by revealing some- very personal information about other student. Then at lunch time he disappeared and- we encourage curiosity with all our students. A desire to learn is always good. But a child his age should not be stealing things from the biology lab our older students use! It was lucky one of his classmates found him. He didn't need to tell the school that- well, I can't talk about that information myself. Just know that neither side was innocent."

Violet gave William a pained look. "Can't you please try to get along with others?"

"It's not my fault!"

"You know it takes two to get into a disagreement." She looked back at the principal. "I hope you will see to it that he is not hurt again. No matter what he said or did, there is no excuse for that." There was a threatening tone in her voice.

"We'll see to it, and he is being suitable punished for fighting. William will have detention for fighting as well."

"And we will talk more about this at home," Violet told her son. He groaned. He definitely hated school, even if his mother did insist on having "a word" with the boy who hit him before they left.


	6. Christmas and Changes

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes you and that stupid mongrel bring back my pillow!"

William ran down the stairs, Redbeard at his heals. William had been training his dog to steal from Mycroft's room. The latest theft involved taking the pillow from Mycroft's bed while Mycroft was still sleeping on it at four in the morning. They ran too fast to be safe. It was amazing they didn't fall. Mycroft didn't have a chance to keep up, although losing a bit of weight helped. William had told him he'd regain it over Christmas.

"We can't help it. We're pirates and pirates steal."

"Pirates also have their heads mounted on enemy ships!"

Mycroft managed to grab one end of the pillow and started pulling. Redbeard growled playfully and kept a tight grip on the other end. The pillow ripped and feathers went everywhere.

"Now see what you did?"

"It's your fault!"

"What's going on here!"

The noise had woken up their parents, who stood angrily at the top of the stairs.

'I just wanted Mycroft to get up. It's Christmas morning."

"Morning implies daylight, little brother. Does it look like the sun's up to you?"

"But it's Christmas! Don't you want to open presents?"

Both their parents groaned.

"Why are you so excited for Christmas? You don't even believe in Father Christmas anymore."

"Right. Since you told me he's not real two years ago." Their parents had not been happy over that.

"Sometimes I wish you both still believed so you'd behave this time of year," Violet said a bit helplessly. "Now both of you clean up this mess and then try to get a few more hours of sleep. William we'll open the presents when everyone is awake."

Mycroft started to argue that it was William's fault, but it did no good, and they boys never did get back to bed. By the time the mess of feathers was cleaned it was officially morning. William instigating a pillow fight with what was left of the pillow didn't help. However, it did actually get a slight smile off of Mycroft.

When their parents came down, breakfast was made before presents were opened. It was supposed to let them know the value of patience, but it just ended up with a few well flung pieces of food. Redbeard loved it, naturally, since he was able to help with cleaning the food off the floor. Finally they were allowed to open presents. William raced to three.

"Wow, a pirate flag. Thanks Dad."

"You didn't even open it yet."

Mycroft also picked up a package but did not open it. "Mum, you know I don't wear jumpers!"

She grimaced. "Can't you just say thank you?"

The boys were more interested in guessing what the gifts were than the gifts themselves. They even started picking up the gifts that weren't theirs.

"Oh nice Mum will love that pearl necklace."

"Diamond, not pearl," Mycroft corrected him.

A typical Christmas at the Holmes'.

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"William!"

William had been lost in thought, but snapped out of it. "Sorry?"

"I wish you'd pay attention. I asked you to come to the board and solve the problem."

It was harder math than what they'd been taught so far, something that rightfully belonged to the next year's class. William came to the board and solved it in no time. Even his writing was neater on the board than the other students. The teacher stared at him.

'What? You wanted me to solve it."

"But you didn't even show your work!"

"But I didn't need to. That's just what the answer is."

"You weren't paying attention. How did you know how to do that?"

"I looked ahead in some of my brother's books and did some problems for fun. It's easy."

The rest of the class started to laugh.

"Easy? What kind of a freak does math for fun?"

"My mother was a mathematician."

"Ah. So brainy boy doesn't even have to try?" Another boy taunted.

"Of course I have to work at learning. I just enjoy it."

"Freak!"

"Class that's enough. William, take your seat."

None of the other students were able to compare to William, and in between classes he ended up with his head slammed into a trophy case. At lunch he sat alone, and the rest of that day if a teacher called on him he claimed he didn't know the answer. He was hated here because he was smarter than everyone, and he had trouble talking to Mycroft because Mycroft was smarter than him. Even his parents sometimes looked at him as if wondering how to talk to him, especially his father. Already William had left him behind intellectually.

He hated being alone. He hated pretending to be "normal" and on his best behavior even when others were cruel. He was smarter even than the kids years older than him, and no one was more alone here. Shouldn't he be the most liked kid in school? Mycroft liked smart people, didn't he? Yet here the three pieces of advice Mycroft gave him were behave, don't be too emotional, and hide how smart he really was. That hadn't made sense to him at first. Mycroft was proud of being smart. Had he been laughed at too, and known William would be? William fought back a tear and tried to ignore the others when he was in the hall between classes.

"Hey, Billy the genius, you love learning? New word for you to learn. Swirly."

An older boy grabbed him and hauled him into the bathroom. William was too afraid to do anything for a moment, but by now his observations never stopped. He could see that this boy was a football player. Injury in the left leg. He could use that. One well aimed kick, and William was running away from the school. He climbed the first tree he found with branches thick enough to hide him. He was safe here. They couldn't hurt him. He would never be hurt by them again.

He retreated into his mind, imagining a safe room. He wasn't sure how long he stayed there, only that when he came out again, he knew he'd never pretend to be less than he was just to be liked again. He was clever, and if the rest of them were stupid he couldn't change that. In fact he was going to let them know just how clever he was! He would study even harder, show them no one could be as clever as he was, that he was better than them! He snapped off a branch and threw it angrily. He'd never cry because of them again either!

He created a new name for himself then too. Something unique, not William or "Billy." William Holmes went into that tree and into that safe mental room. Sherlock Holmes came out.


	7. More changes

Sherlock knew his mother would have to be called. A missing student would have to be reported to the police. He couldn't hide forever, but he waited until classes were over for the day. When he approached the school doors, he saw his family and two police officers. As soon as his parents saw him they ran to him. Mycroft walked rather than ran, and the relief on his face was mixed with annoyance.

"What happened, son?" Siger asked, kneeling down and putting a hand on each of his shoulders.

"I've decided I'm done putting up with them, that's what happened. I won't be hurt by them anymore."

"William you can't just go running off like that! You had us scared to death." His mother grabbed him into a hug.

"My name isn't William anymore, Mum. It's Sherlock."

"What are you talking about? Why would you want to change your name?"

"A better question is why he kicked another student hard in the leg and ran away." The headmaster came out, and looked ready to have Sherlock expelled.

"I was supposed to just let him flush my head down the toilette?"

"There's a nonviolent solution for this kind of thing," the headmaster argued.

"Not this time."

"Headmaster," Violet tried to get control of the situation. "If William was going to be hurt, he has the right to defend himself. This isn't the first time he's been bullied."

"It seems to me it's William who's the problem."

"Sherlock," he corrected them both, not that any of the adult was listening to him at the moment.

"What exactly did he do?" Siger asked.

"From what the other students have been saying, he's been bragging he's much smarter than the other students."

"I wasn't bragging," Sherlock said. "But since I am smarter than everyone here including the teachers I may as well be honest about it from now on."

"Not helping, brother," Mycroft warned him.

"Doesn't matter. I'm not coming back here."

"We've been talking for some time about switching schools," Siger told the headmaster. "Maybe that would be best for both the boys. Neither have them has ever been especially close to anyone here."

"Of course not, with this bunch of stu-" Mycroft had to put his hand over Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock quickly responded by biting it. "Stupid apes."

"Take him to the car, please" Siger told his older son. "We'll talk about this after we talk to the headmaster." he turned to Sherlock. "I know son. You feel like we're not listening. I promise we will. Right now, we just need you to calm down." Siger might not have the same type of intelligence his wife and sons did, but he had wisdom of his own, and a way of dealing with people. A gentle voice and a firm hand on Sherlock's shoulder had him nodding in agreement. He followed Mycroft to the car.

"I warned you not to be a showoff and to keep your emotions in control." Mycroft said, sliding into the back seat beside him.

"And I warned you not to sneak food into the bedroom. You've put on five pounds in the past two weeks."

"Three and a half."

"Nope. Five at least."

"Stop trying to change the subject, and I lost eight pounds before that anyway. Couldn't you even make it through two more weeks?"

"It wasn't my fault. I knew the answer. Why should I pretend I didn't? Why should I be hated for being smarter than everyone?"

'Because people don't like it when others are smarter than them. It makes them feel stupid," Mycroft explained.

"Hmm, someone smarter making someone else feel stupid. Now what does that remind me of?" Sherlock challenged. "Hypocrite."

The argument would have escalated, but their parents came back to the car then.

"I've arranged for you to finish classes early, William. "

"Sherlock, ok Mum?"

She sighed. "Sherlock then. We've been planning it for some time now. You boys are both very gifted, and I think a change of schools might help you meet children more on your own level, and give you more of a challenge to help you. Apparently bullying isn't your only problem here. You haven't been turning in your homework lately. Your teacher says you're in your own world much of the time."

"Because it's so boring. It's too easy."

"I had a feeling that's how you felt about it. Your father and I both went to Brambletye as children. I think you'll be happier there."

Sherlock wasn't so sure. "Isn't that in London? That means a boarding school since it's too far to travel every day. What about Redbeard? I can't leave him! He's my only friend."

"They allow pets dear." She started the car and began to drive. Sherlock relaxed knowing Redbeard would be with him.

"Mycroft will be coming?"

Siger answered after a moment.

"I wish you could stay together. That's part of why we waited this long to send you both away. Mycroft is too old for Brambeltye. He's going to Harrow."

Sherlock wasn't sure he liked that. He'd never been away from his family before, and he didn't like people in general. He was excited about this new adventure, but would he survive it?

AN: In researching the school, I found pets are allowed. It was a school Benedict went to. Thank you everyone for the reviews :) They mean so much.


	8. The First Case

His parents escorted Sherlock to school at the start of the term, and both of them were welcomed by happy memories.

"We might not have ended up together if your mother wasn't so good at math," Siger told him. "I'd known she was the most beautiful woman alive, but there was no way I could work up the nerve to speak to her. Then she was asked to give me extra help."

"We actually didn't get that much studying done," Violet reminded him. 'We were too busy with other things."

Siger smirked and leaned in for a kiss, much to Sherlock's horror.

"Dad! That's gross. Just-" He made a disgusted face.

"Trust me son, someday you'll enjoy that kind of thing."

"No way. It would just make my mind melt."

His parents had to laugh at his attitude, and after a tour of the grounds they had to say goodbye. His mother gave him her usual special kiss, kissing her hand and then touching it to his face. He rolled his eyes, but didn't complain too much.

Sherlock didn't end up making new friends, but life at Brambeltye was much better than at his old school. The problems there weren't completely because he was smarter than the others. He could read people, but not social signals as he found out. He struggled to have actual conversations because of that. He also tended to do strange things out of boredom. That hadn't changed, but his teachers tried to be helpful.

He was allowed to sign up for extra classes. He continued dance and violin lessons. He also took fencing and shooting, although the teacher wasn't amused at his shooting pictures into the target. He took drama, although he didn't like performing for an audience. He did turn out to be a good actor, but after a few weeks decided he wasn't interested. Fun math's and languages helped, and he found that he could store vocabulary terms away in the little mental room he'd first created to feel safe in. Literature wasn't his thing. He liked a good book, but his definition of a good book was different from his teacher's.

"But these aren't the type of books I like to read," Sherlock argued as she handed him some copies of books considered children's classics. "I figure out how they'll end before I'm even half way in."

"Sherlock, An Illustrated Guide to Human Decomposition and How to Kill a Man with Cutleryaren't the types of book a child should read," she tried to tell him.

"Why not? They're educational."

His teacher could only grimace, and handed him the newspaper. "Here. Try reading this."

It did keep him busy reading for a little while, but he became focused on more than reading when he came to one article. "Tragedyat school swimming tournament." Eleven year old Carl Powers had died after having some sort of fit in the pool. It could have been just a tragic accident, but something about it wasn't right. Why did he just have a fit like that? He might have had some kind of medical condition no one noticed. It wasn't unheard of for athletes to have heart attacks, but that didn't match this.

He read on and found out that Carl's shoes went missing. Why? How? He wouldn't have lost them. He couldn't have. He'd have had them in the locker with the rest of his clothes. The puzzle pieces were fitting together to tell a horrifying story. A little boy had been murdered. Sherlock knew he could prove it. All he needed was the chance.

That weekend the other students were having a popcorn and movie night. No one would notice him missing. He had three days before then, so he used them to prepare. He didn't eat or drink anything, and stayed up all night to look extra tired. On the third day, he stole a bit of one of the girl's makeup. By the time he was done, he looked unquestionably sick. He didn't show up for class on Friday, and he was in bed when the teacher came to check on him.

"Sherlock, you want to see the nurse? Poor boy, you don't feel well at all, do you?"

He shook his head. "I just want to stay in bed." He made himself shiver. 'I think if I just sleep I'll be fine."

"You're sure you don't want to see the nurse?"

"No. Just need sleep." He hoped she wouldn't insist on taking his temperature. He tried to sound sick, but not so sick that he needed help.

"Well, I have to watch the others, but let me know if you need anything" He nodded and gave a convincinglysweet smile.

He waited until the movie would have started before washing his face and getting dressed. Redbeard whined, sensing he was leaving.

"I'll be back, Redbeard. I just can't take you with me for this." He gave him a petting, and slipped out.

He made it to the bus stop without trouble, and luckily the driver missed seeing one extra passenger. He was able to just stick close to a lady, and anybody would have thought he was her son. Once in London, all he had to do was find a policeman. It wasn't too difficult, and when he spotted one he walked over confidently.

"I'd like to speak to someone about a murder."

The policeman looked at him suspiciously, as if he thought he was playing a joke.

"What murder is that?"

"The murder of Carl Powers."

The policeman didn't seem familiar with the name. It took him a moment to realize what he was talking about.

"Oh that boy who drowned. He wasn't murdered, kid. He wasn't shot or stabbed and no one held him under. It happened in front of loads of people. There's no way it was a murder."

"Then why weren't his shoes with the rest of his clothes?" Sherlock asked. Instead of answering, the officer stared at him.

"You're awfullyyoung to be away from your parents. Do they know where you are?"

"No, but that's not what's important right now."

"I think it is. Wanna tell me where you live?"

Sherlock didn't answer, which meant they had to take him to the Yard. That didn't exactly persuade him to give his name, and he insisted on talking to whoever was in charge of the investigations before he would tell them anything else. Finally he was allowed to speak to one of the officers working on the case.

"So," the officers said in a condescending tone. "You believe there's been a murder?"

"I know there has been," Sherlock corrected him. "Those shoes are missing for a reason."

The officer laughed. He was actually laughing at him!

"Some kid might have stolen them as a prank or something. Or they might have just been lost."

"He wouldn't have has the chance to lose them. He would have been wearing them to the lockers and then gone right to the pool. And what good would it do to steal them as a prank? The fun of a prank is seeing the reaction, and no one except me is even paying much attention to the shoes being missing. They were stolen because they can lead to his killer."

"You've been watching too many detective shows kid."

Sherlock crossed his arms and glared. Didn't any of these officers have a functioning brain cell?

"Well maybe if you watched detective shows you'd know how to do your job. Maybe then you wouldn't have had to cheat on your exams to become an officer. All a person has to do is **look **at your haircut and how you button your shirt to see that."

Somehow that didn't have the effect he'd hoped for. He found himself held in a cell.

Finallyanswering who he was and where he lived. He didn't give his parents'names, not that telling them Mycroft's was any better. They were not going to be happy about this, but what was he supposed to do? Didn't anyone want to know the truth and be able to tell the Powers what happened to their son?

Mycroft looked the angriest Sherlock had ever seen him when he came to the cell.

"Sherlock what exactly did you think you would accomplish? I had to come all the way over here after asking permission to leave school. I don't even want to know how you gotout of school and all the way here."

"But I knew I could prove what happened. None of these Neanderthalscould. They aren't even smart enough to listen to someone who knows better."

"You're eight years old, brother. Of course no one is going to listen to you."

The cell was unlocked and Sherlock was handed over to Mycroft. There was nothing else to be done, but Sherlock had to have the last word.

"So basically there's no one here willing to catch a killer. Is that supposed to mean none of you do your jobs? What do you do set around all day scratching your heads?"

'That's enough, brother. We're going." He took his arm a bit roughly. "Now! And this had better be the last time I have to bail you out of any kind of trouble with the police."

AN: The books mentioned in this chapter are actually book it mentiones Sherlock owning in The Sherlock Files by Guy Adams, and it was verified Sherlock was only eight when this case happened.


	9. Goodbye Redbeard

AN: Implied slash later in the chapter, dealing with Mycroft. It wasn't a random decision, there are lines of dialouge in the series that imply it. Sherlock has made comments about Mycroft not knowing women, but Mycroft's code name is not "the Virgin" and other comments are made if a person thinks about the implications. I will not include anything flatly contradicted in cannon in this particular story, and if this is contradicted later I will change it. For those against it slash, know that there will be no love scenes in this story unless they are established as cannon later, so it won't be anything "heavy". I never write detailed love scenes. As to my own beliefs, I did not set out to write this to preach, but believe hate in any form is wrong.

This chapter is dedicated to every pet, every person who has ever loved a pet, and all those potential pets still looking for their forever home.

Now, on with the story.

Sherlock kept busy the rest of the school year, but was never too busy for a walk with Redbeard. Rainy days were spent throwing balls up against the wall for him to catch. If Sherlock was doing his homework, Redbeard sat with his head in his master's lap. When other children gave him strange looks when he knew things he shouldn't, or the times they were able to get away with bullying him, Redbeard was always there to comfort him. Every now and again there would be a bad storm, and Sherlock would remember the story about the east wind. Now he knew it wasn't real, but a twinge of fear was still there. At those times, Redbeard would lay besidehim or even on top of him, a living security blanket.

Sherlock turned nine that January, and thought to himself that he and Redbeard had been best friends for five years now. That was over half of his life and a good part of Redbeard's. He couldn't imagine not having the dog at his side. He wouldn't let himself think that his best friend was getting old. When Redbeard developed a limp that winter, he told himself it was just the cold. He made himself forget Redbeard had never limped in the cold before. In fact he loved playing in winter weather.

When summer came, the limp was no better. Sherlock convincedhimself being home again would somehow help. Instead, Redbeard slowed down even more. He'd always enjoyed eating as many scraps as Sherlock could sneak him as well as finishing his own food, but now he wouldn't eat unless Sherlock coaxed him. His once bright red coat was speckledwith gray, and there was a dull look in his eyes. They took him to the vet, but really they'd already known what the vet would say. Redbeard was just old. There was no cure for that. He was given some medicine for the arthritisin his leg, but there was nothing else to do.

One night, he couldn't make the stairs anymore, and whimpered when Sherlock tried to help him. From that night on, Sherlock slept downstairs with him. No master could have been more patient or tried harder to make him comfortable, but it wasn't helping the way they wished it would.

"Sherlock," his father said gently. "I think before long you might have to decide if hanging on to life is really best for Redbeard."

"It is! Of course he wants to stay with me!"

"He's hurting," Violet told him sadly. "We won't take away your choice. He'd your dog. It's just if he starts letting you know he's had enough, the way to show him you really love him might be to say goodbye."

"Can't they just give him better medicine?"

Violet and Siger each hugged him.

"There's no way to make the old young," Violet said. "It's just part of life."

Sherlock refused to accept that at first, but one day Redbeard wouldn't eat at all. Not even the tastiest treat would tempt him. Sherlock tried to arrange some pillows for him to lay on, and he let out a yelp when Sherlock tried to move him. Looking into his eyes, Sherlock saw only pain. His parents heard the yelp, and came into the room. Sherlock closed his eyes and forced the words out.

"I don't want him to hurt anymore."

They hugged him, and the appointment was set. Sherlock did all he could to make Redbeard's last day happy, even if there wasn't much he could do except pet him. He held his head on his lap on the way to the vet. When the vet came out she looked at Sherlock and his parents.

"Maybe the boy should stay out here."

"I'm not leaving my best friend to die alone," Sherlock told her coldly. He knew the vet was just doing what she had to, but he felt like this was Redbeard's murderer trying to separatethem. The vet reluctantly agreed. Sherlock had to look away when the injection was given, but when it was over he stayed as close to Redbeard as he could. He climbed up on the metal table, being careful not to shake it. No one stopped him as he cradled his friend's head in his lap. Redbeard wagged his tail and licked Sherlock's face.

"That's right, boy. I'm here. I'm right here. You knew I wouldn't leave you alone for this, didn't you? You're my best friend, Redbeard. I love you."

Redbeard licked his master's tears, but he didn't know why he was crying. The pain was fading, and they were together. When he was too drowsy, he snuggled up against Sherlock. His tail continued to wag, then slowed, then gave one last thump.

Sherlock seemed to have died as well. He didn't cry any more. He just stared into space, silently stroking his friend's fur. His mother finally led him away, but he didn't seem to see where he was going or hear what she said. Days passed, and he couldn't eat, wouldn't speak, and rarely left his room. At times heart wrenchingviolin music could be heard, but otherwise there was no sign of life in him. Nothing anyone did made a difference.

Things showed no sign of improving, and then shortly before school started again there was a storm. It started in the night, and their parents were too deeply asleep to hear. Mycroft had woken up thirsty and was going to get a drink when he heard the outside door close. He checked Sherlock's room. He was gone.

Even if he hadn't been right behind him, it wouldn't have been hard to find him. He knew where he was going. Redbeard's grave. Mycroft found him with his coat spread on the ground over the still bare patch of ground. His face was soaked, and not just from the rain. He was shaking, and not just from the cold. Mycroft had just taken time to grab an umbrella on his way out, and held it over him.

"Sherlock." No response. If he hadn't been shaking he could have been a statue. "William!"

For the first time since Redbeard died, Sherlock spoke.

"I didn't want him to get wet."

Mycroft drew in a breath in shock. His brother was close to going mad! He grabbed him by the shoulders and made him face him.

"Have you lost your mind completely?Redbeard is dead. He can't feel wet anymore. That was the whole point of having him put down. He's never going to feel anything again. Now stop thinking like a two year old."

Sherlock seemed to be coming back to reality.

"Do you think he's in Heaven?"

"People and dogs don't go to Heaven when they die. They're either buriedor taken to a special room and burt and that's the end of it. Now get inside before you get pneumonia. Being out in this isn't going to help him any. He was just a dog anyway. Not even a heroic one like in the movies."

Sherlock pulled away and took a swing at him for that. His small fist connected hard with Mycroft's stomach.

"Don't ever say that! He didn't have to be Lassie or Old Yeller to be important!" He shouted as Mycroft was bent over. "He was my friend. He loved me. He saved me from being alone. Nothing could ever be more important than that!" Mycroft straightenedup, but Sherlock was sobbing so hard now he couldn't stay mad about being hit. "He was my best friend. My only friend. I'll never have a friend who loves me like he did again."

"If you don't, count yourself lucky. Think about it. If you never loved him, would you be in pain like this now?"

Sherlock was quiet a moment before answering. "No."

"That's right. All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage. Don't care, and you won't hurt."

They walked back towards the house. Sherlock was calmer now, calm enough to realize something.

"Who hurt you? Someone must have, for you to know that."

Mycroft nearly froze in his tracks, but kept walking.

"Wrong again, brother. I just knew it's logical."

When each of them was back in their rooms, Mycroft fingered the gold ring on his hand. He couldn't quite control where his thoughts led.

"Is this about what people will think? You've come out, as they say, and your parents still accept you. I've told you again and again Mother will just be happy to know I'm in a relationship. Father loves Uncle Rudy no matter what. William can be rude and annoying but there's nothing he hates worse than people who prey on others for being different."

Alastair shook his head. For all Mycroft's brilliance, he couldn't see what was so obviously wrong between them, and gender had nothing to do with it. The dark haired literature major had cared about Mycroft ever since they'd shared their first class together. The problem was, he couldn't be sure Mycroft honestly cared about him.

"Why would you want to be with me? All I ever hear is how much better you are then everyone else, and how I'm foolish to care so much about everything. I care about you, but I suppose that's foolish too."

Mycroft stared at him, completely shocked. His companion couldn't really feel that way. He'd have picked up on it. He would have noticed. He never misses the meaning in a glance, wear on a coat sleeve, or cut of clothes. How could he have not seen that someone he spent so much time with had become so unhappy?

"I say those things, and you aren't my equal in most regards- but that doesn't mean I don't care to have you around."

"As someone you can show off to? Someone who makes you seem even more brilliant by comparison? Or because of who I am?" he challenged. "I need some, well, some affection in my life. I need to know I matter to you. " He took out a ring. "You can read any object the way I read a book. What do you read from this?"

Mycroft scoffed. "Well since we're arguing, not yet finished with school, and it wouldn't be legal I hardly think it's a wedding ring."

"No, it's you."

Mycroft actually laughed. "You and your poetry, making analogies."

"No, I mean it. Look at the gold. It's dazzling, bright and shining like that." He placed it in Mycroft's hand, cupping his fingers around it. Alastair pulled his own hand away. "Or it can be just cold and metallic. I suppose the difference is up to the wearer. I don't think you've quite decided yet. You'll have to, sooner or later. When you do, wear it as a reminder of what choice you made and why."

************************************************************************************************  
>Mycroft made his choice, and had not spoken to Alastair since. He was sure he'd never regret it. It had been Alastair who'd suggested breaking it off in the first place. He had simply not cared enough to stick with him, Mycroft told himself. He refused to let the thought of him being at fault enter his mind. It was much better like this anyway. No relationships meant no pain. And yet, there were times when he wondered what it would feel like, introducing him to his family, someday living together and having him to come home to in the evenings. Not that he wanted that. It was just curiosity making him wonder what might have been.<p>

It would frighten their parents, just how much Sherlock would take Mycroft's advice to heart. He'd become harsher and colder after that day he'd had such trouble at his old school, but now it was as if a machine had taken his place. All human feeling was shoved aside, and he'd muchothers for letting themselves feel. William was completely gone now. The ice blooded stranger calling himself Sherlock stood in his place.

At least, it seemed that way. If his parents could have seen inside his head, they would have been just slightlyrelieved. Sherlock's safe mental room was becoming a mental house. He storedfacts and knowledge with much more organization than he kept his room. Now, something even more important was stored there. Many times, Sherlock would visit thatplace in his mind, and Redbeard would be waiting for him, young and healthy again, never to be taken away completely.


	10. Life Continues

Twelve year old Sherlock knew he was going insane. He had already completed all his summer homework, and it wasn't even July. He'd collected every old newspaper he could find, and completed all the crosswords, word searches, and seduko's. He'd decided never to bother with them again. Why bother when they were so easy? He'd already read everything in the house. Technically, he'd only read about half of them completely. The others he'd tossed aside when he figured out the endings. He looked at riddle books, but the riddles were dull and uninteresting.

Doing an experiment would be a welcome distraction, but his mother had taken away anything science related. He'd only been doing a few harmless experiments on a sheep brain and cow brain he'd gotten from a nearby butcher. Although in hindsight he probably shouldn't have done those experiments in the kitchen sink. The combination of brain tissue and chemicals had resulted in a clogged up garbage disposal that sent back a smell so bad every window in the house had to be opened. The plumber had almost left without finishing the job.

"Will you stop drumming your fingers on the table already? It's getting annoying," Mycroft complained.

"If I have to suffer, why shouldn't you? I'm starting to think it's possible to actually die of boredom."

"If I offer you something to help, will you stop the drumming?"

Sherlock debated a moment. "Annoying you is fun, but I suppose so."

"Good." Mycroft said. "Come outside for a moment." Sherlock followed him behind the house, and Mycroft pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

"Cigarettes? I knew about you smoking of course, but you're actually offering me one?"

"I understand about the brain needing relief. I've found these help sometimes. If it keeps you calm and out of my hair for a while, it's worth it."

He lit the cigarette, and handed it to Sherlock. One puff had the younger Holmes in a coughing fit. Mycroft couldn't resist a smirk, and Sherlock was certain he'd done this just to laugh at him. He took another puff and managed to cough a little less. He'd made up his mind to be better at this than Mycroft was. He didn't cough the next time he inhaled, but his first coughing attack had been enough for his mother to hear. He'd never heard her deduce the way he and Mycroft did, but she always seemed to see and hear anything he got up to within seconds.

"Mycroft Aldwyn Holmes did you really give your little brother cigarettes?" She grabbed the pack out of his pocket, threw it to the ground, and crushed it with her foot. Then she grabbed the cigarettes out of their mouths and stomped them out. For a woman her age she was very fast when she wanted to be! And whoever thought she was a sweet, motherly woman had obviously never seen her angry. It wouldn't have surprised the boys if fire had shot out of her eyes.

"He asked for it!"

"No I didn't. It was his idea!"

Strange how their mother could make them feel like they were each four again.

"I don't care whoseidea it was. I don't want to ever catch either of you smoking again! Are you trying to give your brother and yourself lung cancer?"

Mycroft had gathered some of his courage.

"Mum, I only smoke one every so often, not enough to get addicted. And given his reaction to this one, I doubt he'll ever want another cigarette anyway."

"If he does, and you provide it for him, I'll warn you I'll be very angry about it." She went inside slamming the door.

"So, just to be clear, that wasn't angry?" Sherlock had a smirk on his face now that she had left. Mycroft gave him an annoyed glare and walked away. Sherlock pickpocketed the pack of cigarettes in his other pocket so carefully Mycroft never felt it.

Sherlock didn't especially like Mycroft's cigarettes, but he still was going to prove he could be better at this than Mycroft was. He tried different brands, and noticed the ash that fell from each was different. That could be useful somehow, he was sure of it. He convincedhis mother to give him back his microscope, and by the time summer was over he had a whole dresser drawer filled with ash samples. So far he'd found over a hundred and fifty kinds, but he was sure there were more.

School started again. This year would be Sherlock's last at Brambeltye before going to Harrow. Classes here had always been challenging to normal students, although they weren't much more than a mildly interesting game for Sherlock. It was a bit more interesting to study the other students. It was better than reading a book. He knew all about most of them already, but one girl, Cleva Harris, gave him less material than most. She wasn't in any particular group, but she didn't keep mostly to herself the way he did either.

Most people would have said she was pretty, and Sherlock was sure he would agree if he noticed that kind of thing. She was blonde, with a simple loose hairstyle, and blue eyes. She wasn't the stereotype of a dumb blonde, but Sherlock was sure she was trying to make sure no one ever thought of her that way. She wasn't silly and obsessed with looks and celebrities like most of the girls he'd met.

The teacher came in, and he turned to face him. They were in science class, and he actually enjoyed these lessons, so he paid attention.

"Good morning, class. Today we will be learning about the different types of tissues in the body. Can anyone name them for me? Someone besides Mr. Holmes please? Yes, Miss Harris."

Cleva answered without having to stop and think. "Muscle, connective, nervous, and epithelial."

Not only had she known the answer, she'd even pronounced epithelial correctly.

"And what does epithelial tissue do, Miss Harris?"

"It lines structures and cavities in the body. It helps with trans cellulartransport, protection, detecting sensation, secretion, and selective absorption."

She'd read the material ahead of time. She honestly cared about how well she did in this class.

"Very good. Now there are two types of this tissue, simple and stratified. Today we will be doing lab work to see the difference. Everyone please chose a partner."

Sherlock hated partner projects. He normally ended up with whatever partner the teacher assigned him. They were never any happier about the partnership that he was. They would have been happy about gettingthe best grade in the class, if Sherlock had been someone they could stand. Sherlock liked having a sounding board for his thoughts, but why was everyone he was paired with so stupid? He was wondering which moron he would be paired with this time when Cleva walked over.

"Would you like to be my partner?"

Sherlock was rarely surprised. This was one of those times.

"Me? You're asking me to be your partner?"

"If you want to. I just thought since neither of us has a partner yet."

"No, I mean yes that's fine." He was a bit frustrated with himself for getting tonguetied like an idiot. The project went well, and it felt good to actually have a partner who understood the basic concepts of what they were doing. They were finished well ahead of the others, and used the extra time to talk a bit. He didn't have to try dumbing down what he said for her, although he still found himself speaking faster than was normal even for him. He wished he could stop doing that. If only he knew why maybe he could stop. For some reason it made Cleva smile.

The bell rang, and each team turned in their observations. It was lunchtime, and as they walked out the door Cleva asked. "Do you want to sit together?"

On the days when he actually ate lunch, he always sat alone. For some reason Cleva wanted his company.

"Sure. We could do that."

It was the first time anyone ever voluntarily had anything to do with him. He wouldn't have admitted it, but it felt good.


End file.
